


Declaration of Sentiments

by middlemarch



Category: Mercy Street (TV)
Genre: American Civil War, Conversation, Doctors & Physicians, F/M, Nurses & Nursing, Romance, Seneca Falls, Women's Suffrage, as I think it would be on Mary's, early season 2, late Season 1, voting is much on my mind
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-19
Updated: 2019-07-19
Packaged: 2020-07-08 20:58:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 631
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19875985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/middlemarch/pseuds/middlemarch
Summary: Whatever else, they agree that Byron Hale has execrable table manners.





	Declaration of Sentiments

“I cannot believe we’d be here if they’d given women the vote,” Mary said surveying the larger ward, her hands still busy winding recently laundered bandages. Every bed was full, the light falling through the windows moderated by the clouds that were the same pale grey color of the linen she rolled. Private Gibson was moaning a little through the morphine he’d been given; she’d have to see to him in a minute.

“Given women the vote!” Jed exclaimed. He was given to dramatics, she knew that, but she couldn’t deny what she’d said was unconventional. She braced herself for some further hyperbolic comment, possibly involving farm animals or saints, possibly both, as he delighted in challenging propriety as long as he was not in the middle of a laparotomy. She’d learned his profound respect for the pancreas and liver after assisting at only a handful of surgeries. She’d learned she liked him very well then.

“You’re a suffragist, then?” he asked. It was the most benign question he could have posed, which took her aback.

“Yes,” she replied, watching his expression for disgust or mockery. The soft light was reflected in his dark eyes but it also revealed the silver at his temples. 

“On further reflection, it does make sense,” he said, as if he’d mulled it over for hours with a glass of Burgundy, instead of the few seconds he’d taken before he spoke, barely enough time for her to blink.

“You agree with me?”

“That you are a suffragist, an acolyte of Mrs. Stanton—yes, that’s easy to believe, though you couldn’t have been much more than a child when they had that convention. ’49, was it?” he said. “As to your other point, I’m not convinced the fairer sex are much wiser. But then, I hardly believe anyone has much sense these days and we’re all forced to listen to Hale, who’s got the vote and roughly the brainpower of a boiled turnip.”

“Seneca Falls was 1848. I was 13, old enough to know my own mind,” Mary said.

“I can’t imagine a time when you weren’t,” Jed replied. “But I think you over-estimate the compassion of women, judge them all by your own standards. I’ve met many who would not share your convictions.” He must be thinking of his mother, that bitter voice, the boy she’d left in the hall. Mary hoped that was who he meant.

“Perhaps you’re right. But if we could use our minds and voices, not only our hands and hearts—could we not help form a more perfect Union? Could we begin to see all men, all women, as equal?” Private Gibson had grown louder. Mary set down the bandage in the basket and stood up. Jed reached out to her arm, held her lightly; that same hand had once grasped hers as if he’d never let go, crying out in miserable agony for the needle, for some succor.

“If they were all like you--” he began, stopping when she moved closer instead of pulling away.

“They shouldn’t be, we needn’t all be made alike to be of value. But I take your meaning, I understand,” she said softly. And then, because she must rescue them again from the precipice, an endless task with Jedediah Foster rushing headlong to any cliff he could find, she spoke again.

“I’ll make sure you’re given parsnips tonight for your dinner, not the turnip mash again. They’ll miss butter, but they’re sweeter. Don’t come too late though, for I shan’t be able to keep Dr. Hale from gobbling them all up.”

Jed laughed then, as she intended, but he did not let go of her right away, the way she would hold her first ballot if she got it, reluctant to let the moment end.

**Author's Note:**

> Voting has been much on my mind, given the current state of US democracy, and I was happy to see a Mercy Street story get reblogged on Tumblr, which made me think there might be some appetite for a small drabble-ish piece. The title is from the document signed at Seneca Falls in 1848. Of note, Lucretia Mott was not in favor of pushing for franchise but Frederick Douglass spoke out in favor and convinced everyone.


End file.
